


Secrecy's Rule

by Musyc



Series: Shelter and Sanctuary [2]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Draco Malfoy - character, F/M, Hermione Granger - character, Stockholm Syndrome, Voldemort Wins, captive/slave, dark themes, post-war AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-13
Updated: 2010-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Draco Malfoy's captive in Hogwarts, under the Dark Lord's rule, Hermione has had to learn to play by the rules of a game she doesn't understand - rules that change at a moment's notice. Draco is her captor and her protector, and she fights to protect him in turn. (Sequel to South of Stockholm)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrecy's Rule

Hermione woke with a sharp pain in her gut. She whimpered and tried to curl in on herself, but the familiar press of Draco's arm over her tightened as she moved. She took a deep breath and bit her lip, laying her hand on his wrist, her fingers curled to avoid brushing his Mark. Even in his sleep, she'd learned, he reacted poorly to that.

She prodded him with caution. She didn't want to wake him, but she recognized the ache spreading across her abdomen as the onset of cramps. It had been a while, with stress, worry, war, and capture upsetting her body and interrupting her cycle, but she'd been relatively safe in Draco's care, treated well and kept outright healthy compared to some. It seemed her body had decided to get back on course. She wasn't certain whether to be upset or relieved.

On the one hand, she'd had sex with Draco several times since the first offer she'd made, and even though he always withdrew from her body before he came, she knew there was the risk of a pregnancy. The approach of her period relieved that worry. On the other hand, she wasn't prepared for this and she doubted Draco was either. She doubted very much that he'd even considered the possibility. He'd been concerned for her care since he'd rescued her, but most men in her experience never thought about this.

Another sharp pain twisted her gut and Hermione gripped Draco's hand. "Draco," she whispered, turning as best she could to get closer to his ear. "Draco, wake up. I need to go to the infirmary."

He stirred, his hand tight around hers, but other than the small pull as he settled her body more firmly against his, he didn't respond. Hermione closed her eyes against another cramp and drummed her heels on his shins. "Draco, _please_. Wake up!"

Draco grunted and sniffed, a deep rumble vibrating his throat without any coherent words. After a few moments, and a few more of Hermione's prods and tentative kicks, he was awake enough to ask, "Do you _want_ me to toss you out with the others?"

"Draco, I'm sorry, but I needed to wake you up. It's not an emergency, but I have to go to the infirmary. My cramps are coming on."

She flushed at the confession, but there was no help for it. Draco only shook his head and nestled down again, his arm draped over her waist. "You don't want to go there. I'll pour you some brandy or fetch some willow bark later if you start hurting more."

Hermione huffed in frustration and struggled in his grip until she'd managed to turn over and could stare direct into his sleep-glazed eyes. "Cramps, Draco. Not a headache, though that will be along too. Cramps. _Female_ cramps." He still looked too bleary to comprehend her and she sighed before making further clarification. "Menstrual cramps. My period's going to start in a day or two. I need to go to the infirmary and get some supplies or there'll be an awful mess." Draco could barely handle the blood on his hands that she hadn't yet dared to ask him about; she didn't think he'd take at all well to blood in his bed.

Understanding filled his eyes when she met them again, but it was tainted with pity. "You don't want to go to the infirmary," he repeated.

"I _have_ to go," she told him, poking his chest. "I'll wear that damned collar and chain if you're sca--" She interrupted the word and ducked her head. He didn't like it when people knew he was frightened, she reminded herself. "If you're worried the others might see me out of this room, but I have to go."

Draco watched her in silence for a minute, his grey eyes darkening, then his lips pressed together and he inhaled sharply. "All right." He released her and got up to pull on shirt, boots, and robes. He tossed the ragged black dress at her and she tugged it on as he took the heavy collar from the cabinet where he kept his brandy, parchments, and mask. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he told her when he fastened the collar around her neck.

He unlocked the door, checked the corridor for any of the other Death Eaters, and led her out. Hermione was surprised that he hadn't attached the chain, but when she plucked at his sleeve and asked, he only shrugged. "The chain's for going in front of _him_. We won't run into him in the corridors. The sort of people we might run into...." His lips thinned and he shook his head. "If something happens to me, run like fucking hell, Granger. You'll never make it off the grounds, probably won't make it out of the castle, but run. Try to make them kill you instead of recapture you. If you're taken into custody again, your death will be very, very slow." He looked at her, and she saw nothing but truth in his gaze.

She nodded. "I understand."

\---

Outside the infirmary door, Draco stopped her with a touch to her arm. "You won't like what you see in here," he said, avoiding her eyes. "Most of the others don't bother with medical assistance unless there's something seriously wrong, and the captives are-- They're, um. Left to die." He shook his head and exhaled slowly. "The place is a mess. Has been since we took over the castle."

Hermione spoke in a whisper, keeping her voice low as if any of the Death Eaters might be lurking nearby to overhear. "You don't have to warn me to behave myself, Draco. I know the rules; I'm playing the game. Can we just go in, please?" She gestured at her too-small dress, then folded her arms and rubbed her biceps with shaky hands. "I feel exposed out here."

He sighed and pushed the door open, then led her to one of the few beds in the room. "Wait here. I'll check with -- I'll check Pomfrey's office." He left her, and Hermione sat with her hands clenched in her lap, trying not to look at the destruction in the infirmary. Shelves had been pulled down, beds overturned, files and specimen jars scattered across the floor. The room smelled of piss and blood, and she breathed shallowly through her mouth to avoid inhaling too much of the stench. The longer Draco took, the more she could smell the room, and the less she could avoid looking at her grim surroundings.

She slipped off the bed and made her way to the office, watching her steps with care to avoid jamming splinters of glass into her bare feet. She listened at the door for Draco's voice, and caught it, faint, with a hint of disgust coloring his words. "Just _point_," he said, and she heard a thump that sounded as though he'd kicked the wall. "Something for cramps, something for the bleeding. I don't know what women use. Just _point_ to what I need if that's all you can do."

The door moved as Hermione put her ear against it, and she stumbled into the office, falling hard on her knees beside Draco. She looked up to apologize to him and saw Madame Pomfrey.

What used to be Madame Pomfrey.

One eye dangled, bloody and pulped, on her shattered cheek. Broken teeth showed through the hole in her jaw. Blood stained her uniform and apron, along with darker things that Hermione couldn't identify. Pomfrey turned on the stump of one ankle and pointed to a shelf with twisted, distorted fingers. Hermione retched and shoved her fist against her mouth to muffle her scream.

With a guttural obscenity, Draco crouched to turn her away from the Inferius that had been their school nurse. "I told you to stay," he said, his voice full of regret. "Told you that you didn't want to come here."

Hermione gagged, bent over her knees as she vomited. Draco's long fingers wrapped in her hair and held it back until she was done, and he handed her a mostly-clean rag to wipe her mouth. She tried not to think of where he'd found it, of whose shattered hands had given it to him. She tried not to think of anything at all while Draco left her in a huddle on the floor as he gathered up supplies. "Come on," he said, after the clattering of bottles and boxes stopped. "Let's go."

She looked at the hem of his robes, let her gaze travel up to his hands and the small wire basket he carried. A few potion bottles, a box of gauze bandages, and a leather-bound book. Hermione focused on that, kept her full attention on the basket, to prevent her eyes from glancing at the misshapen Pomfrey, silent in a corner of her office.

Hermione wiped her face with the cloth one more time, then tossed it away and stood. "Draco, I'm sorry," she mumbled, bile still staining her throat. "I'm sorry, I should have listened to you."

"Yeah." He pushed his hair off his forehead and sighed. "You will next time. Now come on, before someone catches us in here."

She followed him out, head bowed and docile, ordering herself to trust in what Draco told her. In these circumstances, in this world of horror, he was the only one she _could_ trust.

\---

It took them a little effort to work out quite how to arrange her necessities, even after Draco managed to find a pair of knickers somewhere in the castle. Hermione forced herself to ignore that the elastic was shredded from having been over-stretched, and forced herself to ignore the implications of that along with their small size. She thanked Draco for the find, stuffed gauze into the crotch, and tried not to move much over the next few days. She washed the knickers in the sink every night, and Draco clearly did his best not to grimace when she informed him with red-faced shame that she hadn't finished like she'd thought the night before, and that the sheets needed cleaning.

He looked at her, at her ragged dress and at the rumpled sheets in their sleeping alcove, then seemed to come to a decision. "The laundry," he said, and went to the cabinet for her collar. "It's still operational. Strip the bed. I'll take you. Maybe we can find you another dress there, too."

Her heart raced with worry, and she plucked at her sleeves. "Can't you just--" She made a swishing, flicking gesture. Draco usually cleaned their sheets with magic, after sex or nightmares. She didn't understand why he wasn't choosing that now.

"I could." Draco's fingers slid under her chin and he pushed her head up. "But my master is out of the castle and isn't expected back until evening. I thought you might like to step outside for a few minutes. We can't be long, and we sure as hell can't be caught, but...." He shrugged and gave her a lopsided smile. "But happy birthday."

Hermione sucked in a breath, her eyes widening as she counted days in her head. She couldn't be certain, with too much time lost and blurred during her captivity, but she supposed it was possible that enough weeks had passed. "My birthday?" She looked at Draco and bit her lip. "How did you know?"

"I don't," he admitted. "I know that it's in the autumn. The leaves are changing, so it's autumn. Close enough?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes watering with emotion. She was astonished, and delighted. A present. _Outside_. She hadn't seen the sun since she'd been brought to the castle, had been locked up without fresh air for what felt like centuries, and now Draco was giving her the chance to go _outside_. She flung her arms around his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss.

She'd intended only to thank him with the action, but after a few seconds, his mouth moved against hers. His tongue brushed her lips, and Hermione shivered as she opened to him. Somewhere in the middle of the kiss, she heard him drop the collar, felt his hands slide across her back. The first time they'd had sex, it had been for comfort. The several times after that had been for company. This kiss, this deep and blood-stirring kiss, was more intimate that any of that. It was a kiss that held complications, and desire, and bewilderment, and by the time Draco raised his head, Hermione knew her eyes were as dark and glazed as his looked.

Draco coughed and pulled back; Hermione cleared her throat and turned away. "Collar," she said at the same time Draco muttered "sheets", and they both gave a quiet, nervous laugh.

Draco folded up the sheets and put a shrinking charm on them before putting the small bundle into his robes. "Let's go," he said, as he picked up her collar to slip it around her throat. "Before the sun goes down."

\---

They were close to the laundry when a pair of low voices echoed off the stone walls of the corridor, and Draco jerked Hermione into a dusty, disused room. He pushed her behind the door and put one finger over his mouth in a shushing gesture as he extinguished the _Lumos_ they'd been using for light. He tugged the hood of his robes up to cover his hair, and stood just out of sight of the corridor, his wand held at his side. Hermione held as still as she could, hands over her mouth and nose to keep from inhaling dust and giving their hiding spot away with a sneeze or cough.

The two voices grew closer, the distortion of echoes resolving into individual words. Hermione strained to identify them, but only one seemed familiar. She thought it was Rowle, who'd checked up on her and Draco more often than the others.

"What's she going to do now that he's dead?" asked Rowle. "Keep it in the family, move on to his brother?"

"Doubt it. She's busy sucking our master's shriveled dick."

"You mean he has one? Shocking."

Both men sniggered. Hermione stared at the corridor through the hinges of the door, wishing she could see Draco's face. The men had to be talking about Bellatrix, but that they'd also speak of the Dark Lord in such disparaging terms was un-nerving. When they kept going, she bit her lip to keep a squeak of surprise from escaping.

"Speaking of the dickless, anyone heard from Lucius yet?"

"No. Still out wherever he's gone to ground. He's never going to make up for the failure to catch Potter alive. Run off to save his own skin, most likely, abandoned his little brat here."

"Malfoy." There was a spitting sound, and Hermione flinched. Draco's name had been said with as much violence as an Unforgivable Curse. "Can't believe that little shit's still alive. I don't trust him. He fucked things up with Dumbledore, nearly ruined everything. Can't just be Lucius' history of service that kept him around _and_ with a decent looking bird on top of that. You saw her in the hall. Hardly a scratch on her."

"Maybe he's the one sucking the master's dick, then." They sniggered again and their voices faded as they walked on.

Hermione wanted to move, but she held position until Draco stepped around the door and gestured to her. His face, in the shadows of his hood, was blank of emotion, but when he recast the _Lumos_, his voice was tight with anger. Hermione touched his shoulder, careful to avoid startling him. "Your father's missing?" she whispered.

Draco looked at her without speaking, then his nostrils flared and he cleared his throat. "Come on. We don't have much time before sundown."

That seemed to be the only response he intended to give, and Hermione chose not to push. It wasn't the first question he'd left unanswered, and she knew he had reasons, even if he didn't explain. She took a deep breath and nodded, then let him lead her out. They made it to the laundry without further incident, but Draco checked the room with a cautious search before he let her in.

The huge vats that used to be full of uniforms, of skirts and trousers and jumpers, of soapy boiling water, were empty. Half were overturned or tipped on their sides; several had sleeping house-elves curled up in them. One held the little house-elf with the missing ear who squeaked and ran from the room when Hermione gave a hesitant wave of recognition.

Draco took the folded-up bundle of sheets from within his robes, reversed the shrinking spell, and handed the lot to one of the remaining house-elves. "Take care of the blood," he said. "And find another dress for her." He looked at Hermione with disgust in his eyes, an expression Hermione suspected was solely for the benefit of witnesses. "I'm tired of seeing her flash her arse to every man in this castle."

He grabbed Hermione's arm and yanked her across the room to a small door set in the wall. "Trying to make me jealous?" he growled, his fingers dug into her arm. "Are you _looking_ for a beating, you little bitch? You're _mine_."

Hermione hissed and struggled with unfeigned pain, and as the house-elves murmured, she sniffled loudly to add to the deceptive performance. "I'm sorry. Sorry, my-my lord, I'm sorry. I try not to--"

"Try harder," Draco said with a snarl, and shoved her out the door.

\---

Hermione stood just outside the laundry door, her arms extended and her face turned up to the sun. Even with its low position in the sky and the heavy clouds that scudded over it, it was glorious. The faint warmth seemed to soak into her bones, and she dug her toes into the dirt to feel the last remnants of heat from the day. "Thank you," she murmured, turning her head toward Draco where he leaned against the castle wall. "Thank you for this, Draco. This is amazing."

"You're welcome," he said quietly, and she opened her eyes to see him scanning the sky as if he were looking for something. "It's not much, but you've been well-behaved." He turned to scan the line of the castle's roof, and he stiffened. He gestured her back against the wall, then after a few moments during which she waited, tense and anxious, he motioned for her to follow him.

They skulked along the wall for several yards and turned a corner. Hermione didn't know what Draco had spotted, but she didn't ask. She kept quiet, kept against the wall until Draco signaled to her and relaxed his shoulders. "We can't stay out much longer," he said, checking the position of the sun. It rode low in the sky, its bottom curve dipping below the horizon. "Get as much sun as you can now. I don't know if I'll be able to sneak you out again."

"I appreciate it," she said in a soft voice as she approached him. "I know you risked a lot to give me this. I don't know why, though." She gave him a long look and followed at his side as he walked along the castle's wall. "But I'm guessing this is another one of those questions you're not going to an--"

She stopped when she caught Draco's expression. It had shifted from calm and relaxed to horrified, and she looked past him to see what had disturbed him so much. Down the slope of a small hill, the grass was stained dark, and Hermione gaped at the trail those stains made. "Hermione, don't," Draco said, his voice strained. "Come away from there, _now_. This isn't supposed to be here."

She ignored him. At the base of the hill was a pile. Her mind wanted to call it a pile of robes, but the longer she stared, the more the image cleared. Her heart raced as she recognized the sight before her. A pile of robes resolved into a pile of bodies, and Hermione slid to her knees with her knuckles stuffed in her mouth. There was a long, glossy black braid tied with bronze ribbons. There was a shock of blond hair over an expression that was pompous even with the slackness of death. There was long, pale hair tangled in a pair of radish earrings. Cho, Ernie, Luna.

Hermione keened softly, and her eyes skipped from body to body. Dennis, Lisa, Morag. So many of the people captured with her were now just corpses tangled together. There lay Hannah, her head at a horrible angle, her throat slit through. There slumped Parvati, her shorn head and bruised limbs exposed, naked to the sun. Flies buzzed over the pile of bodies and Hermione bent over her knees, weeping.

"Hermione, I'm sorry." Draco crouched beside her, one hand on her back, fingers rubbing gently between her shoulders. "I didn't mean for you to see this. They aren't supposed to be here. They're usually around the other side."

"Usually?" she asked, her voice thick with tears. She sat up, wiping her face with the collar of her dress. "What the hell do you mean, usually? What are you talking about?"

Draco sighed and stood, his back to what remained of their schoolmates. "Usually. There's a spot around the other side of the castle where I _usually_ dispose of the bodies." She looked up to him, her breath catching, and he nodded. "Yeah, that's my job here. I'm the gravedigger. Or the corpse burner, depending on how many there are."

Hermione slowly got to her feet, her eyes locked on the bodies. Draco continued, his head tipped up to look at the sky. "There's not usually this many. Guess they're cleaning house to make room for fresh toys."

Hermione whipped to stare at him, her face draining. "Fresh toys?"

Draco turned to her, and Hermione took a step back. His expression was as blank as the mask he kept in the cabinet in their room. "Where do you think my master's gone? The war isn't over. There's still a resistance to clean up."

Her heart fluttered at the news that the Dark Lord had not yet defeated all of England, then it nearly stopped as she realized what that meant.

Resistance. Fresh toys. Cleaning house to make room. They planned to bring new captives to the castle, another set of her friends and classmates to be subjected to rape and torture and death.

Hermione took another step back, her mind whirling. She couldn't face this, couldn't handle this. In the back of her mind, she'd known this was the reality she lived in now, but under Draco's relatively decent care, she'd been able to ignore that, able to forget. No longer. As gentle of a warden as he was, he was still one of them. He was still a Death Eater. He burned the remnants of their victims - she remembered, bile rising in her throat, every time he'd returned to their room with the smell of smoke on his robes, blood on his hands. He covered up their crimes and he spoke so casually of their atrocities, and then he came back to their room and she joined him in bed.

Hermione's face twisted as she stared at the man she'd been sleeping with night after night, at the man she'd voluntarily kissed only an hour before. She'd been a fool. She threw one more glance at the pile of bodies waiting for him, waiting for the Death Eater in front of her to _dispose_ of them, and she turned on her heel to run.

She knew it was possible Draco would hit her with a hex before she made it far, but she heard no shout, felt no spell between her shoulders. She doubled her speed, ignoring the pebbles and blades of grass that cut into her feet as she ran. Of course. _Of course_. He'd sneaked her out of the castle in the first place. He wouldn't want to draw attention, to put himself in danger. Hermione locked her eyes on the line of trees that marked the beginning of the Forbidden Forest, and she ran.

Footsteps pounded the ground behind her, faster than her own, but she ran. She was weak, underfed, and frightened, but she ran. The Forest grew closer, Draco's thudding footsteps grew closer, and she ran.

A green spear of magic flew over her shoulder. Hermione stumbled, fell, and rolled, her heart pounding until she thought it would burst. The voice that had shouted the spell hadn't been Draco's. Hermione threw a terrified glance over her shoulder and saw a stout witch on a broom, zipping toward her, wand out. Draco was between them, still running, charging at her at full speed. He dropped and slid across the grass, knocking Hermione down, and threw a spell at the flying witch. She dodged, but the magic burst around her in a blinding flash. With a shriek, she veered off.

Draco grabbed Hermione's arm and hauled her to her feet, then yanked her toward the Forest. His face was pale, deep lines bracketed his mouth, and his eyes were so wide they seemed to be bulging. He gasped for breath as he jerked her through the tree line into the shadows. "Alecto," he said, panting. "Alecto Carrows. How the fuck did she know we were out here?"

It was a question that didn't require an answer. Didn't have _time_ for an answer. Alecto screamed somewhere close, _far_ too close, and Draco jerked Hermione deeper into the Forest. They staggered over roots, bounced off trees, and still Alecto's shrieks grew closer.

"Malfoy!" she wailed, her voice sounding like a dozen disgruntled owls. "Malfoy, what are you doing? Why did you sneak your little slut out of the castle? Trying to help her escape? Our master will be just--" A bright spell flashed through the trees, severing limbs and sending leaves and feathers spiraling to the ground. "_Thrilled_."

Draco didn't have to throw a shushing gesture. Hermione was desperate to keep quiet, to keep Alecto from locating them. She pressed her lips together so tightly they begin to hurt, and she let Draco pull her further into the trees, further away from Alecto's screeches and wild spells. He drew his wand and sent a burst of twisting, silvery smoke along the forest floor. Hermione thought, with a moment of hysteria, that it might have been a Patronus, but as far as she knew, Snape was the only Death Eater who'd ever been capable of that particular spell. The smoke split apart into a dozen, dozens, hundreds of tendrils, and scattered into the shadows as Draco pulled her along a narrow path.

A loud chittering rose up in the distance, and Draco pushed Hermione against a tree. Bark dug into her back through the thin fabric of her dress, scraped the backs of her thighs where the material wasn't long enough to cover her legs. He put his hand over her mouth, his eyes wild in the dim light that filtered through the trees, the sunset making shadows dance. "Don't move," he hissed, his mouth against her ear. "Don't fucking move. If we make it back to the castle in one piece we can count ourselves lucky, but for the love of god, Granger, right now, don't you _dare_ move."

She nodded, just barely, just enough to move her head under his hand. Draco pressed her into the tree, covering her with his own body, hiding her behind his thick robes. The chittering sound grew louder and Hermione heard Draco's breath catch in a shudder. He pushed closer to her, and Hermione thought it was a little less of a protective motion than it looked. She could almost hear his heart racing, and she sensed he was as frightened as she felt. His breath shivered and he burrowed his head into her shoulder. "Don't move," he whispered again, his voice quavering. "Don't draw their attention."

Hermione held her breath as she saw what he meant. The ground of the forest shifted and wriggled, moving in a chittering swarm. Hermione hid her mouth against Draco's shoulder, bit down on his robes to keep any sound from escaping. Hundreds upon hundreds of hand-sized spiders covered the ground, rushing past them. "Don't move," Draco mumbled, each word thick with worry. "Don't move. Don't _move_."

Several yards away, Alecto crashed through the trees, shouting for Draco. As one creature, the spiders turned. They angled through the trees, tracking Alecto's voice, and then the shouts turned to screams. Horrid, terrified, bubbling screams.

"Run." Draco grabbed Hermione's hands, jerked her away from the tree, and shoved her in the direction of the castle. "Run, Granger. _Run_."

\---

They staggered back through the door into the laundry room, making the house-elves all jump and screech. One ran up to Draco and held out a neatly packaged bundle, long green ears trembling so fast Hermione thought the little creature might take off in flight. Draco snatched the bundle and shoved it into his robes, then snatched Hermione and shoved her into the corridor.

"Draco," Hermione yelped, pain searing through her shoulder when the force of Draco's shove pushed her into the wall. "Draco, please. Wait. Tell me what's going on!"

"Shut up." Draco grabbed her collar and jerked her to a standstill. She scrabbled at her throat, trying to release the choking pressure. Draco was livid, the only color in his face coming from his eyes. They burned like mercury, and she shivered. "I have never, not once in my life, wanted to hit a woman," he snarled. He hauled her close, bent to stare directly into her eyes. "But you are tempting me beyond control. Shut up, and march your arse straight back to the room without another word, or I will put you under the Imperius again and leave you like that until the world ends. You don't have the _slightest_ comprehension of what you just did."

Hermione scraped her teeth across her lower lip and tried to nod, but choked when the collar dug into her jaw. Draco growled and shoved her away. She stumbled up the corridor, fighting for breath, letting tears of pain, frustration, and fright pour down her cheeks unabated. She didn't know what had come over her to make that attempt at escape. She should have known he'd catch her easily.

She should have known _someone_ would catch them. Hermione tried to think as she headed back to the room she shared with Draco, his footsteps angry behind her, the heels of his boots ringing off the stone floor. He'd been nervous the entire time they'd been outside, watching the sky, watching the castle roof and walls. He'd been looking out for someone to catch them where they weren't supposed to be. Where _she_ wasn't supposed to be.

Hermione scrubbed her hands across her face, feeling dirt scrape on her cheeks. He'd risked exposure, risked discovery, to give her a few moments outside in the sun, and she'd nearly gotten them both killed through her own selfishness. For that moment of horror as she'd fled from the bodies of her schoolmates, she'd only thought of herself, of desperately and secretly hoping she'd find freedom in either the Forest or in death, and she'd almost taken Draco with her.

He'd done nothing to her. Nothing in comparison to the treatment that all the others had received. She closed her eyes, forcing herself not to think of the pile of corpses waiting for Draco to do his work. He'd treated her well, taken her outside, defended her against Alecto--

Hermione shuddered and almost fell, her entire body trembling. He'd fed Alecto to the spiders to keep them from discovery, from capture. He protected her; he buried the Death Eaters' victims. He slept with her in his arms; he casually mentioned the others were hunting new toys. He smuggled her books when he could; he knelt and called a madman his master. Draco led two lives, one hated, one struggling, and she was only making things harder for him.

Hermione scrubbed tears off her cheeks with the backs of her hands, ground her knuckles into her eyes to force back more weeping, then yelped when she smacked into something. It wasn't solid, wasn't the stone wall, and she looked up. A scraggly beard, ragged hair, wild eyes and yellow, pointed teeth. Hermione screeched and fell back, scrabbled in reverse until she fetched up against Draco's body. His arm came around her waist and he snugged her close to his chest. They both stared at the large, looming form of Fenrir Greyback, and Hermione couldn't tell which of them was trembling more.

Greyback grinned at them, his tongue lolling, and Hermione fought back the urge to gag as the smile showed blood staining his teeth. "What's he doing?" Greyback asked, taking a heavy step towards them. "What's the little pup doing? Out for a walk? Dangerous to be roaming the corridors all alone, Malfoy. Your daddy's not here to protect you now."

Draco's arm tightened around Hermione's waist. "Move on, Greyback," he muttered, and he turned to angle his shoulder between her and the werewolf. "Just move on. There'll be some new meat coming in tonight. Maybe there'll be a couple of young ones for you to play with. Don't want to waste your strength."

Hermione knew it was foolish to turn her back on Greyback, but she couldn't handle the hungry, slavering look in his eyes. She turned in Draco's grasp, burrowed her face into his shoulder, and curled her fingers into his robes. Behind her, Greyback _laughed_. "Aw. Poor baby's scared. Think she's gonna cry?" He laughed again, then sniffed, then made a deep sound that forced a whimper from Hermione's throat. Greyback's footsteps came closer, Hermione tightened her grip in Draco's robes, and Draco tensed as Greyback stood just behind her. "She gonna cry?" he repeated, his fetid breath stirring her hair. "Or is she gonna bleed some more?"

Hermione's eyes widened, and it felt as though both she and Draco held their breath at the same moment. "Oh yes," Greyback said in a growl. "Don't tell me you'd thought you'd be able to get that little piece of information past a werewolf. You've been bleeding, girl. Done now, I reckon, but not long. Does he enjoy that? Does he enjoy sinking into you, getting your sticky red filth all over his lily-white dick?"

Draco trembled, his heart racing under Hermione's hand. The tendons in his throat stood tight, like columns of marble. He swallowed, the sound of his gulp loud in Hermione's ear. "Run along, dog." The bravado quaked in his voice and Greyback howled with laughter. He grabbed the back of Hermione's dress and tore her out of Draco's arms, flung her across the corridor to smash into the wall. The impact dazed her, blood dripped into her eyes from a cut on her forehead, and she had to struggle to stay conscious.

Greyback had one hand around Draco's throat, pinning him to the wall. The other hand rested lightly over Draco's heart, then dragged down his torso. As Hermione watched, her eyes glazed from the blow to her head, Greyback stroked Draco's chest and abdomen, caressed him like a lover. Through the tears in her eyes, she could see the tears on Draco's cheeks; through the ringing in her ears, she could hear Draco's soft, whimpering terror.

Greyback leaned close, and he licked the tears from Draco's face. "Enjoy sticking it to that bitch?" he asked in a voice that rumbled. He turned to give Hermione a sharp smile. "He get it hard for you, Muddy? Put that stiff cock up your cunt and fuck you while you bleed? He still make that noise of his? That little groan, that _hot_ little grunt right before he comes?"

He turned back and his hand dropped to Draco's groin. Draco went up on his toes, keening, and Greyback gave a deep and rolling laugh. "Been wanting to hear that for a long time, pretty pup. Maybe some night I'll come by your room and you'll make it for me again. If you're a good boy, I'll let _her_ be the one pulling it out of you this time. If you're an even better boy, I'll take her instead. Been a while since I let one live."

Hermione saw his arms flex, saw both hands squeeze down on Draco's throat and groin, heard his foul laugh as Draco cried out in pain. Greyback dropped Draco and walked away, his laugh filling the corridor. Hermione scrabbled across the floor to Draco, crumpled against the wall. "Draco. _Draco_!" She grabbed his shoulder and shook him.

With a snarl, he lashed out at her, arms flailing, legs cycling as he fought to get away. His back to the wall, he hissed and spat like a cornered animal. "Don't touch me. Don't _touch_ me!" Tears still stained his cheeks, and in his voice she could hear a terrified little boy. Hermione held up both hands and crouched well out of his reach, stayed down and made herself look as small as she could. Something told her she'd just found out the beginnings of why Draco said Greyback's name in his nightmares, and she would never be able to forget no matter how much she tried.

She didn't look up until Draco's harsh breathing evened out, until his sniffles and whimpers slowed. "We need to get back to the room," she whispered, flicking a glance at him. "Draco, please. Back to the room, please, before someone else comes." He sniffed again and nodded, face scrubbed in the crook of his elbow.

He climbed to his feet, hauled her to hers, and took her back to the room in silence. He pushed her into the sleeping alcove, tossed the bundle of laundry in with her, and grabbed his mask from the cabinet. "I'll be back later," he muttered without looking at her, his voice tight and his cheeks pink with shame. "Got work to do."

He slammed the door behind him, and Hermione curled up in the middle of the alcove, clinging to her knees. If she hadn't forced him to chase after her, they wouldn't have been in the corridor when Greyback came through. The terror in Draco's eyes, the fear in his voice - it was her fault. She'd broken the rules, she'd failed him. If he threw her away with the rest, it would only be her fault. She bent her head and wept.

\---

She didn't know how long he was gone, didn't know how long she huddled crying. Eventually she uncurled, her limbs aching from her cramped position. She moved as though she were under the Imperius, her eyes as blank as her thoughts. She made the bed with the clean sheets, trying not to take deep breaths of the fresh-laundered scent that reminded her of sunshine. The bundle was more than just sheets, and she smoothed the sleeves of the dress the house-elves in the laundry had scrounged up for her. Rolled up and tucked into the left half of a pair of cloth shoes - actual _shoes_, shoes that would keep her feet warm on the stone floors and that weren't Draco's overlarge extra boots - were two more pairs of knickers, clean and free of rips or tears or horrible dark stains.

In the right shoe was a pair of socks to round out her small wardrobe. Hermione admired her treasures, and tried on her new shoes. Something hidden in the toe of the right blocked her foot, and she shook it loose. Her cheeks went chilled as fresh tears came.

A tie. A tie striped in burgundy and gold. Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and ran the silk tie through her fingers, dragged the slick material over her knuckles and weighed it in her palms. Gryffindor gold, bold burgundy. She didn't know which of the house-elves had known what she'd been in the time before the Dark Lord, didn't know which of them had been able to identify her as a Gryffindor. She hardly felt like one now. All her bravery had been taken from her by the attacks, the captures. The deaths.

The bodies.

The door opened, and the smell of smoke and blood came in with the sound of Draco's robes rustling, his boots dragging across the floor. She didn't look up from the tie, and it seemed as though Draco didn't expect her to, because he passed her without a word. He went into the bathroom, and Hermione's shoulders hunched as she heard the distressing, familiar sounds of his vomiting.

She was on her feet before he'd finished, and she walked into the bathroom just as his hands were at the collar of his robes. He stilled, and she knew he was seconds from ordering her out. She stepped close before he could speak and laid her fingers over his mouth. "I'm not going to ask any questions," she told him quietly, as her hands went to his robes. She unfastened them and pushed them off his shoulders. The heavy fabric slid down his arms and she started on his shirt buttons. "You don't owe me answers. You don't owe me anything. I ran away from you out of fear, I got us into trouble, and I'm sorry for it. I won't -- I won't try that again. I won't try anything _like_ that again."

She expected that he'd shove her away at any moment, that after the events they'd gone through, after his frantic refusal to let her touch him earlier, he wouldn't let her do it now. He did, and she chose not to question why. Questioning him on anything was inevitably a bad decision, and she was tired of making those. Bravery came in many forms, and one of the hardest was the form that did the right thing, no matter the consequences. Right then, right there, the right thing was to keep herself alive, and to keep herself safe. Whatever it took, she had to do that. She'd done it so far, and it had worked; one change had nearly killed her. She wouldn't make that mistake again, and she was determined to let Draco know that.

She unbuttoned Draco's shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, her fingers following the material down his arms. She traced the lean ridges of his biceps, the hollows inside his elbows, the long ropes of the muscles in his forearms. "I'm sorry, Draco," she whispered, trailing the point of one finger up his inner arm and around the dark brand in his skin. Draco held still, eyes closed, and let her outline his body with her hands.

"I'm sorry," she said again, and went up on her toes to kiss his shoulder, just at the point where the large scar on his torso began. She was apologizing for more than her actions that day, and she hoped he knew that. Whether or not he understood, she felt she needed to do it. She apologized with every press of lips to skin, apologized with every brush of fingers over flesh. Draco held still and allowed her to do as she pleased, until she'd lowered to her knees and her lips moved across his stomach.

Those muscles tensed and hardened, and his hand spread across the back of her skull. She paused, waiting for him to move, waiting for him to push her away. He exhaled, slowly, and his fingers combed through her hair. "Fenrir was lying," he said in a voice so soft that she had to strain to hear him. "He's never touched me. Not in the way he was implying. He wanted to, though. I can't deny that. He wanted to. But, er. But he couldn't. Got close, once or twice. Dad stopped him."

Hermione knelt without moving as Draco continued to pat her hair gently, as he spoke in that soft, soft voice. "He got really close once. Actually had his hands on-- around my -- and he...." Draco gulped and the rest of his words came out in a rush like a feint that couldn't end without his broom smashing into the ground and shattering into a thousand polished splinters. "Dad caught him. Stopped him. Offered him a deal. Leave me alone, he said, and he'd get an even better treat. I thought he meant Mum at first and I was going to-- and then he drew Fenrir off and they whispered, and Fenrir went away. And I wanted to tell them, I wanted to say I was sorry. So sorry, Hermione."

She tipped her head back when his fingers tightened in her hair. "Them?" she asked, more quietly than he'd spoken. His voice had shifted, and she knew someone else was under discussion now. Someone not his family, not his associates.

"The Montgomery sisters." He looked down at her, with his eyes wide and his lashes spiked with moisture. She didn't think he even realized he was crying. "Their little brother. A better treat. Younger. Smaller. Less of a fight, less chance of damaging the flesh. He was a trade." Draco locked his hand in her curls and wrenched her head back, forced her body into an arc.

"I didn't want it. That little boy was killed so that I'd be left alone," he said, staring down at her wide, anxious eyes. "My father did what was necessary to protect me. I didn't want him to do that, I didn't ask for it, and I regret, with every ounce of blood in me, that it was done. But it _was_ done, and I learned from it. I learned that sometimes it is necessary to do things that disgust me, sometimes it is necessary to do things that make me ill, that make me hate myself as much as I hate the people who drive me to it. Sometimes, situations don't go as planned, and plans have to change, and horrible things must be done in order to get the best outcome. My father knew that, and he did it, for me. I can do no less in my efforts to survive, to protect what is mine. I _will_ do whatever is necessary to achieve my ends."

He dragged her to her feet by her hair, ignoring her yelps of pain as strands tore loose from her scalp. "You changed my plans, and I'll have to do a few horrible things, but I will do them. We'll survive this, we'll escape this, and I will _not_ let you fuck it up because of people who are already beyond saving. Do you understand me, woman?"

She didn't, not entirely. She didn't understand where his anger had come from, though she suspected it was laced through with a still-lingering fear and with the humiliation of having lost his control in front of her yet again. She didn't understand what he was saying about his plans, didn't understand what he meant by '_we'll_ survive this, _we'll_ escape this'. She didn't understand, but she nodded as best she could with his punishing grip in her hair. "Yes, Draco," she said, her hands twisting and clenching at her sides. "I understand. I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I promise. I'll trust you."

"I doubt that," he said, after a moment of staring at her. He released his grip and stepped back, turning away to start the water for a shower as she rubbed the ache out of her scalp. "But I'll accept it for now. Get some rest. My Master will be back soon, and I need to do some thinking before he returns. We'll be expected to put in an appearance."

\---

She'd hoped he wouldn't find it necessary to put the chain on her again, but after her futile attempt at escape, she couldn't quite lay any blame on him for it. If their positions had been reversed, she could only imagine that the chain would be the least she'd do. She'd have put herself under the Imperius again, most likely, prevented even so much as the slightest independent thought when going before the others. Draco gave her the courtesy of keeping her own mind this time, though Hermione held her suspicions that it was less of a courtesy and more because he didn't want to give the Dark Lord reason to question his control over her. Draco was still under orders to break her to his will, and while they ignored that in the privacy of their room and their time alone, in public he could not afford to show even the smallest hint of shirking his duty or disobeying his commands.

He let her wear the new dress once she'd shown it to him. He'd seemed relieved that she had something that fit her better, that covered her more, and Hermione supposed that he hadn't been _entirely_ acting when he'd shouted at the house-elves that he was tired of the others getting to see her. Tempting them with an unbroken toy was dangerous.

He even allowed her to wear the shoes she'd been given, and she caught him hiding a smile while she showed them off. "Nothing against your boots," she told him with an attempt at humor, "but these fit so much better. The house-elves are really quite good at guessing sizes, I have to say."

"They don't have much else to do," he said as he fit the chain to her collar. "Not nearly as many people living here as there used to be." His eyes shuttered for a moment, and Hermione wondered if he was thinking of all the people who'd died in the battle, and of the few who'd managed to flee before the fighting began in earnest. She knew most of his housemates had been allowed safe passage back to their families, as Slytherin near-unanimously supported the Dark Lord. That had been no surprise. The handful of students in other houses, who'd shown their true alliances, and who had slunk off to freedom without a scratch, those had been the shocking ones.

Hermione followed Draco up through the corridors, forcing those thoughts and memories out of her mind. She couldn't dwell on the past. She had to concentrate on the now, on the present moment. She had to keep her focus on keeping herself safe, on keeping Draco safe. They were still playing a game, and if she didn't pay attention, the rules would change and she would lose.

Even through the thick doors that sealed off the Great Hall, she could hear the Death Eaters celebrating. Under their shouts and ruckus, she thought she heard other, fearful voices. She regretted that. Tears and sobbing meant live victims, more toys for the others to rape and slaughter. She wished they'd all been killed. Draco was the only one of the Death Eaters who didn't mistreat captives, and Hermione knew, her heart fluttering with the shame of it, that she wouldn't give up her place as _his_. She'd leave the new ones to the others, regretting it, hating it, sick with it.

But she would do it. Draco wasn't the only one who had learned a very painful lesson. There was someone outside who knew she was within the castle walls, knew she was under Draco's care. There was someone who knew where she was. As long as she stayed alive, there was still a tiny spark of hope. Her moment of weakness when she'd seen the bodies of her friends had been just that, only a moment, and she would not allow herself to fail again. She would do what was necessary.

Draco took a firmer grip on her chain and led her into the Great Hall. On the dais, on his throne, the Dark Lord watched over his reveling servants, a look of avarice on his pale, noseless face. Bellatrix lounged in her place at his knee, her head against his leg as he combed his bony fingers through her hair. Draco led Hermione to the front of the room, neither of them glancing for even a second at the captives huddled to the side of the hall. As Draco bowed to his master, Hermione went to her knees, dropping into a subservient posture without the need for a command. When she dared a look up, the Dark Lord was staring intently at Draco, then that cold gaze moved to her face and he crooked a finger at her.

She put one hand on the floor to push to her feet, but before she could rise, she heard a chastising sound. She looked up to see the Dark Lord shaking his head with a cruel amusement in his eyes. "Crawl," he said, his voice carrying over the laughter of the others. "Crawl to me, Mudblood."

Hermione fought the urge to cower behind Draco, to cover her head with his robes like a child hiding from monsters in the night. There was no way to hide from this monster. She took a deep breath, reminded herself that she needed to play by the rules even if she didn't like them, didn't fully understand them, and put her head down to crawl up the dais for the Dark Lord's examination. Her chain jangled as Draco followed her, though he let the chain extend to its full length. Hermione knelt up at the Dark Lord's feet, close enough to Bellatrix that she could almost feel the heat of the woman's breath.

The Dark Lord reached out and lifted her chin, and Hermione tried not to shiver as she felt the chill in his fingers. She met his eyes, efforts to keep her face blank making her body tremble. "How interesting," hissed that icy voice, and Hermione clenched her teeth to stop a whine from escaping. "No Imperius this time. Have you learned how to obey, Mudblood? Have you learned to take orders?" He gripped her chin and forced her head up. "Learned your place?"

She didn't know if the questions were rhetorical or if an answer was expected, and she had to stop herself from looking to Draco for guidance. He answered for her, stepping up close until his robes brushed her shoulder. "She is a model captive, my Lord. Obedient, responsible, biddable."

"And beddable, I assume." The Dark Lord didn't take his eyes from Hermione, and she waited to feel the cold touch of his mind crawling over hers. She assumed he'd search her thoughts with Legilimency, assumed he'd seek out the truth of Draco's answers, and she put all her mental strength into clearing her mind of any hint of disobedience. She ordered her own thoughts to calm, to displaying nothing but the mind of a model captive, just as Draco had named her. Play the game, obey the rules.

The Dark Lord stared at her for a few moments, but she didn't feel the icy cold of his thoughts. He sneered, his noseless face wrinkling, then he leaned back and snapped his fingers. A pair of house-elves scurried into view, their tiny bodies hunched under the weight of a heavy chair, a smaller version of his throne. They set it beside him, at his right hand, and ran off. The Dark Lord gestured at the chair. "Sit, Draco. A reward for your services."

Draco's robes trembled against her back, but he bowed. "Thank you, my Lord," he said in a quiet voice. He sat and tugged Hermione's chain. She crawled to him, her stomach roiling at the amused look on the Dark Lord's face, and she sat between Draco's feet. The similarities of her position, the mirror of Bellatrix at her master's feet, made her shiver. To hide the quake in her body, she pressed against Draco's knee, hid her face in his robes. He rested one hand on her head, threaded his fingers through her hair.

"As you are such a _well-behaved_ captive," the Dark Lord said, "I am quite certain you will remain so here. Take a look, Mudblood, and see what you could have been." Hermione trembled, unconsciously shaking her head against Draco's thigh, and his fingers tensed in her hair. The Dark Lord growled. "I said _look_."

Draco gripped her hair and forced her head up, forced her to twist around and look at the captives crouched to the side of the Great Hall. Hermione sucked in a harsh breath, both from the pain in her scalp and from the recognition of yet more friends and compatriots huddled in chains. Katie, Anthony, Gabrielle. She'd studied with these people, fought alongside them, and now she watched as the Death Eaters laughed and taunted them, watched as the Death Eaters threw hexes over their heads to make them flinch.

"A weak crop this time," the Dark Lord continued. "Poor fighters. It took hardly any effort to round them up. They're worth nothing, even more so than the Mudblood you have there. At least she appears to have been of some use to you, young Malfoy. I hear that she has made your nights less lonely." That cold, high laugh came as Draco jerked, his grip in her hair loosening. "Now I think she can be of some use to me. As they are such a worthless bunch, I have no interest in wasting my time on their disposal. Mudblood."

Hermione shuddered, but turned to face the throne. Bellatrix smirked at her, chin pressed into the Dark Lord's thigh. "Y-yes? My Lord?"

"Oh, very good. That almost sounded sincere. Perhaps one day young Malfoy may actually deserve the seat he is occupying, if he can continue to train you properly." The Dark Lord leaned back, bony fingers steepled under his chin. "Dispose of the captives, Mudblood."

Hermione's eyes widened and she felt her skin go cold. "_What_?" She gaped at Draco, gaped at Bellatrix, gaped at the captives huddled by the wall. She shook her head, the motion violent enough to rattle the chain Draco held. "No. _No_. I can't. I can't do that. You can't ask that of me!"

Draco hissed as the Death Eaters laughed, as the Dark Lord sneered. Bellatrix smiled and toyed with the Weasley-red hair necklace around her throat. "It seems that my nephew does not have his little slut under as much control as he would like us to believe, my Lord. This defiance is unbecoming."

The Dark Lord caressed Bella's hair, patting her. "I agree. Draco, rise. Stand before me."

Draco dropped the chain and struggled out of the chair, maneuvering around Hermione's body with some difficulty as she clutched at his legs and the hems of his robes. He kicked her hand away and stood in front of his master, head bowed. "My Lord. I ... I swear to you, my Lord, I have been training her. This is--"

"This is yet another example of your failure to obey your directives and fulfill your assignments." The Dark Lord's voice was full of ice, and Hermione shivered as she watched Draco tremble under the pointed words. "I allowed Bellatrix to persuade me to induct you into our glorious organization, as she had a convincing argument that your bloodlines and ancestry would prove you to be a worthwhile member." His fingers tightened in Bella's hair, and she keened in pain as he snapped her head back, until her throat was fully exposed, her hands scrabbling at his shins as she fought to remain upright. "You were wrong, Bella. He has too much of his father in him to be of any use to me."

"My Lord!"

The protest came from two throats at once, Draco and Bellatrix both raising their voices. The Dark Lord shoved Bella forward as Draco dropped to his knees in a supplicating posture. Their master smiled, cruel humor lighting his red eyes. "I do not condone failure in my servants. Bellatrix, make up for yours by teaching the boy a lesson. Draco...." He laughed. "Remain still, if you can."

Bella shot to her feet, wand in hand, and pointed it at Draco's chest. "_Crucio_!"

Draco dropped to the floor, screaming, his fingers scrabbling into the cracks between the stones. His back arched and bowed as he twisted under the lash of Bella's spell. Hermione clung to the throne, screaming with him. She remembered the pain Bellatrix could inflict, remembered how strong the madwoman could be when she truly wanted someone to hurt. She screamed for Draco as he writhed on the floor, screamed as tears streamed from his eyes and he drooled blood onto the floor.

Draco collapsed, his eyes glazed and empty, and still Bellatrix held the Cruciatus on him. Draco twitched, muscles loose in unconsciousness, and the harsh scent of ammonia mixed with the copper smell of his blood as he pissed himself from the pain. The Death Eaters roared with laughter, and Hermione screamed again. He was her protector, the only one who could save her in this place, and they were going to kill him for their sick pleasure.

Bella was an expert duelist, and Hermione knew she would only have one chance against the woman. She held her breath, waiting until Bella took a step away from the Dark Lord's throne, until her back was exposed.

There.

Her chance.

Hermione snatched up the chain and lunged at Bella, shoving her down the steps of the dais, knocking her wand away to clatter across the stone floor. She slapped the older witch, dug at her face with stiffened fingers. She fought and struggled and did her best to wrap her hands around Bella's throat. Bella fought back, clawing at her, kicking at her. The Death Eaters were shouting with displeasure, the Dark Lord was watching with disinterest, but Hermione hardly noticed anything except the witch under her. She _had_ to protect Draco, and she would do whatever it took.

Hermione wrapped her chain around her fist and slammed it into Bella's face. Once, twice, thrice, and Bella's nose shattered in a gout of blood. Bella screeched and rolled, and Hermione scrabbled away, throwing herself over Draco's limp form. "Rowle, take Katie!" she screamed. "Selwyn, take Anthony!"

The violent shouts changed to laugh-filled cheers, and Hermione looked up to see the Dark Lord applauding as Bella curled at his feet with blood streaming from her nose. She gave Hermione a look full of loathing and hatred deeper than Hermione had seen before. Hermione spat in her direction. "Mine," she snarled, pulling Draco into her arms, smoothing his sweaty fringe back from his forehead. "Mine! Yaxley, take Gabrielle! Draco is _mine_!"

\---

Hermione lay on the bed in the sleeping alcove, curled around Draco's unmoving body. She wept against his shoulder, his arm limp over her waist where she'd pulled it in hopes of pretending an embrace. The Dark Lord had been amused by her violent defense of Draco, and had commanded Bellatrix to stand down. He had ordered Rowle and Selwyn to take Draco down to the dungeons once Hermione had assigned the remainder of the captives to the Death Eaters. She'd done it, sobbing for Draco, sobbing for the captives, sobbing for herself as she sent her friends to death. Gabrielle had spit on her, cursing in French as Yaxley hauled her away.

Hermione knew something inside her had broken. Something important, some moral strand in her soul. But there, in that moment, she found it difficult to care. She was alive, and Draco was alive, and that was what mattered to her. If Bellatrix had been permitted to continue her torture, she might have succeeded in killing Draco, and Hermione could not allow that. He protected her, he kept her safe, and by the rules of this sick game they found themselves playing, she had to keep him safe.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into Draco's robes, ignoring the scent of urine that clung to the fabric, ignoring the smell of blood that clung to his skin. "I'm sorry, Draco. I'm sorry I protested, I'm sorry I refused. This ... this is my fault." She blamed herself for his torture, for the Dark Lord's displeasure that had let Bellatrix put Draco under the Cruciatus.

Draco stirred, his arm tensing around her, and Hermione held her breath. She focused on his face, but his eyes didn't open. He did nothing more except breathe. Hermione burrowed into his robes, ducking her head under his chin. "I'm so sorry," she murmured again. "I'll do better, I promise you. I will, I _will_, I promise."

She didn't know how long she cried against him, didn't know how long she held him tight, but when she ran out of tears, her hand ached and cramped from clutching his robes and her throat felt raw from her keening sobs. She sniffed and wiped her face on Draco's robes, then tipped her head back.

His eyes were open.

Hermione gasped, shrieked, and flung her arm around him to squeeze him tight. She called his name over and over, patting his chest, his cheeks. She wept again, this time in desperate relief. It took her a minute to realize that somewhere between the repetitions of his name, he had said _Her'ne_, and she gasped again. She scrabbled to sit up beside him, his hand clasped in both of hers. "Draco," she said, gulping for air. "Draco, you're awake. Oh my god, you're awake. I was scared, Draco, so scared. I thought you were going to-- I thought you might-- that Bella was going to--"

"Kill me," he said, his voice rough, harsh from the after-effects of his screaming under torture. "Might have. Doesn't like my dad. Doesn't like his blood." His fingers twitched in Hermione's grip and he took a breath that shuddered. "Smell."

"Yes. Oh. _Oh_! Yes, well, you. Er. You." Hermione wrinkled her nose. "You need a shower. I can help you into the bathroom?"

"Can't stand that long, probably," Draco muttered. "Legs twitchy."

Hermione made a face again, silently chiding herself for not thinking of that. Of course. He'd still be experiencing some reaction in his nerves, an ache in his muscles. She remembered what she'd gone through after she'd suffered the same treatment from the same witch. "All right," she said, patting his hand. "Don't worry. I'll go run a bath. Wait right here. Not that you can go anywhere, but. But you know what I mean." She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Don't close your eyes," she whispered. "I don't want you passing out on me again."

She dashed into the little bathroom and started the water, running it hotter than she liked. Draco would need the heat to soak into his body and ease his pains. She set up towels and flannels, put everything for his bath within easy reach, and hurried back out to the alcove. Draco had sat up at the edge of the bed and taken off his robes, though he'd only managed to get them down to his waist. He clutched the side of the bed and stared at the floor between his feet. "Can't get my boots off," he muttered, looking at her through his fringe.

"Don't," she snapped, anger spiking through her that he might hurt himself further. She had to keep him healthy, keep him safe, and it was just foolish of him to push. It risked too much. "Don't do anything. I'll take care of you, Draco." She crouched in front of him and worked his boots off, then helped him to stand. He rested his arms on her shoulders for balance as she finished stripping him, peeling off his clothes where they'd stuck to his skin with sweat and urine. She put her arm around his waist and led him into the bathroom.

Draco was whimpering by the time she managed to get him into the bath, a towel rolled up behind his head to cushion it, and Hermione pretended to ignore the soft noises of pain. He couldn't very well help them, and he'd only be embarrassed if she pointed them out. Instead she brushed his fringe back and caressed his cheek. "There you go," she murmured. "Doesn't that feel better?"

"Yeah." Draco closed his eyes and sank into the water, tension slowly easing out of his face. "Don't leave," he said quietly. "Might drown."

Hermione knelt beside the tub and took his hand. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. Don't worry." She reassured him in quiet, repeated words, talking to him until the skin around his eyes had smoothed out and the deep brackets beside his mouth had faded. She clung to his hand, unwilling to let him go. Even if he was technically her captor, he was also her protector. Without him, she'd have died long before, been beaten and raped and left in the pile of corpses for him to bury or burn. He protected her, and she was determined to care for him in turn.

"I lied to you," Draco muttered, breaking into her thoughts. Hermione looked at him, at the pale lashes nearly touching his cheeks, at the thin tracery of veins across his eyelids. "I'm sorry," he continued, his fingers twitching in her grasp. "Might not have run into Alecto if I'd told you the truth from the beginning, but I didn't think I could trust you to act naturally if you knew."

"Draco? What are you going on about?" Hermione thought he might be delirious, his mind still twisted up from his aunt's torture.

"Outside," he said. He opened his eyes and met her gaze. "I didn't take you outside to celebrate your birthday. That was a lie. I had a different reason, but that was a good way to get you outdoors. Should have thought it through a little more."

Hermione furrowed her brows, but didn't speak. Draco sighed and rolled his head on the towel, giving a soft moan as his neck loosened with a pop. "Someone is looking for you. Needed proof that you're still alive. I made arrangements to take you outside so that they could see you." He laughed quietly, bitterly. "And then you had to go run away and fuck it up. You're such a burden, Granger."

Hermione ignored the insult as her heart fluttered. Someone was looking for her. Someone had been intended to see her, outside. She sucked in air as she thought she had it. It would make no sense for him to take her outside for any of _his_ associates. They all knew precisely where she was. Draco had taken her out there so that his secret communicator, the person she was not supposed to wonder about, would see her. Her hand tightened around his and he made a quiet protest. "Who was it?" she demanded, squeezing his fingers harder. "Who was supposed to see me? Draco, who knows I'm here? I _know_ you're getting messages out of the castle, I _know_ that someone is aware I'm here. Who is it?"

Draco shook her away and rubbed his fingers with a mulish expression. "I can't tell you."

"Why not? You're afraid I'll blurt it out to the wrong person? Afraid I'll give you away? Bastard, I just assigned my friends to your Death Eaters to protect our little set-up, and you think I'd be stupid enough to ruin it all?"

"You did try running away."

She shot to her feet and jammed her fists onto her hips. "Tell me, Malfoy!"

"I can't." Draco levered up in the tub, grimacing with the effort. "Not that I won't. I can't. I'm under oath. Find my Secret-Keeper, and maybe you could get that information." He stared at her through narrowed lids. "I was supposed to show you off so that I could get a little assurance in return. Someone was due to fly over the castle and spot you. Then you had to run off and we ended up in the Forest. God only knows if we were seen before that. Thanks, Granger. Thanks loads. Now how the fuck am I supposed to find out if my fath--"

He cut off, grinding his teeth, and looked away. Hermione saw pink spreading up his skin, a flush not explained by the heat of the bathwater. His father. He'd been intended to get information about his father. Hermione's arms dropped and she looked at the floor in shame. Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater, a violent and angry man who carried his prejudices like they were gold, but Draco cared about him. That had never been in question, and her moment of foolishness had cost him. Cost them. So much could have been prevented if she'd just played by the rules. "I'm sorry," she said. "I ... I'll try--"

"To do better. I know." Draco shoved both hands through his hair, slicking it back. "You've already said. Don't bother saying it again unless you can actually believe it. I certainly don't." He struggled in the bath, but smacked at her hands when she reached forward to help. With panting efforts, he got to his knees and clung to the edges of the tub, his knuckles almost as white as the porcelain. "Go to bed. Go read your book. Just get out of my sight for a few minutes. I need to think."

\---

Draco did not come to bed that night. Hermione heard him pacing the main room of their small quarters for several hours, peeked out through the curtains of the alcove to see him moving back and forth across the stones, his hands loose at his sides. At a few intervals, she heard him stumble, saw him catch himself on the table or on the chair as his body trembled in the remaining aftermath of Bella's tortures. Each time, she wanted to reach out to him, wanted to draw him into her arms and into the bed, but she feared to go near him after she'd destroyed his plans.

She curled up in the alcove, curled around the pillow as if it were Draco's body. When the door slammed, she quivered and bent her chin to her chest. She thought Draco had left, then a second set of footsteps came to her attention.

"Malfoy," drawled a deep voice, and Hermione's brows furrowed. She didn't recognize the voice, didn't know which man had walked into the room. "Where is your little whore?"

A chair scraped, and Draco's voice was steady as he responded. "Asleep. Wore her out. What do you want, Jugson?"

"I'll bet you did. Every man's capable of fucking after he's been tortured by Bellatrix." The sarcasm was almost palpable, and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. Jugson was one of the older Death Eaters, and she expected him to have the same disdain for Draco as the others all carried. _Not tonight_, she thought. _He doesn't need this tonight._ Her eyes snapped open as Jugson continued. "Do you need anything? She hit you rather hard this evening."

It took a few moments before Draco answered. Hermione could picture his expression, the tight muscles in his face as he fought to control his surprise. Behind the curtains of the alcove, she didn't bother. Her face twisted in astonishment at the consideration in Jugson's voice. If he hadn't been a Death Eater, she would have called it concern. Draco seemed to have trouble finding words, as he stammered when he spoke. "I-I am all right. Hermi-- the girl. She did her duty and cared for me."

Jugson laughed. "She did more than that. You were unconscious at the time, so you missed it, but she attacked your aunt. I honestly thought she'd gone mad for a minute. No one's taken Bellatrix by surprise like that in ages. Possibly ever. If your bitch hadn't been so worried about getting to you, I think she might have been able to kill Bella." There was a long pause, then Jugson spoke more quietly. "Shame she didn't."

"What?" Draco's voice echoed in the room, covering up Hermione's own startled gasp. She clapped her hands over her mouth and froze. The curtains did not twitch aside, no one peeked in at her, and as Draco continued, she dared to grip the curtain with one finger and ease it open, just enough to peer out and see Draco facing Jugson, his pale face even whiter with shock. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Your girl. Quite a fighter."

"Not that," Draco snapped, cutting one hand through the air. "The other thing. Shame she didn't? What are you on about?"

Jugson leaned both hands on the table, staring at Draco. "Bellatrix is mad. She has been for years, but she's grown worse. She's driving our master into ... unsuitable actions. She's risking too much. Now that her husband is dead, there is no one to put a halt to her behavior. Rodolphus was an idiot, but he was able to temper her worst impulses. Now, nothing. She's going to make a very dangerous mistake, and she'll take the rest of us down with her."

Draco shook his head and took a step back, moving behind the upholstered chair as if it could form a shield. "I fail to see how this is my business. Why do you bring this to me? I can't do anything to-to-to stop her. Think we proved that tonight." Hermione grimaced at the bitterness in his voice.

"You can't. But your father can."

Draco's eyes widened, and he gripped on to the back of the chair. A muscle in his cheek jumped as he ground his teeth, an action so familiar to Hermione that she could identify it even through the tiny gap in the curtains. "My father isn't here."

"But if he were.... Well." Jugson spoke in oily tones, and Hermione saw him straighten up, saw the corner of his mouth curl up in a smile. "Then perhaps someone else would be at our Lord's right hand. Someone else could give guidance to our master. Someone else could prevent a disaster from which we might not recover." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Something to think about."

Hermione held still, eyes closed to prevent candlelight from reflecting off them, as Jugson turned. He left without another word. Draco remained clutching the chair for several moments, then raised his head and looked directly at the alcove. "I don't trust him."

Hermione sat up, unsurprised that he knew she'd been watching. She pushed the curtains open and drew her knees up to her chin. She folded her arms on her knees and laid her cheek on them. "Neither do I. I don't disagree with him about Bellatrix, but I don't trust him. Too suspicious that he'd come here so soon after tonight's ... events."

Draco went to the cabinet and fetched out the bottle of brandy along with the single glass he kept there. He filled the glass and pushed it across the table, then drank from the bottle. "Yeah," he said, voice hoarse from the burn of the alcohol. "I agree."

He fell into the upholstered chair as she rose from the alcove to take up the glass. Quiet on bare feet, she crossed the room to stand by the chair. She and Draco both drank, and when she drained her glass, she held it out to him. He refilled it without protest, then took her hand and drew her into his lap. "Did you really beat the bloody shit out of my aunt?"

Hermione curled in with him, her head on his shoulder. "She hurt you. I'm not going to let anyone get away with that. You're the reason I'm still alive. You protect me, Draco, and I'll protect you. Those are the rules. We're playing a game, and we're on the same team."

She felt his chest vibrate as he laughed silently. "Sorry I missed it. You know she's going to hate you even more now. Bad enough that you're a Mudblood."

Hermione knocked her head against Draco's shoulder. "Don't. Please, don't. Don't use that term. Not here. Not between us."

He made a soft sound and stroked her hair. She didn't expect an apology and he didn't give it, but after a short pause, he set the bottle in her lap and lifted his hand to raise her chin. He tipped her head and kissed her. "Come to bed."

\---

Not long after Draco and Hermione rose the next morning, a knock came at the door. Draco answered it, jumping back as a short blond woman was shoved through at the end of a heavy chain. She stumbled to her knees, her long hair falling around her but failing to cover her naked breasts. Hermione caught her breath in a gasp as she recognized Gabrielle's face under bruises. Yaxley stepped into the room and shoved one knee into Gabrielle's back.

She yelped and raised her head. "I bring a message," she spat, glaring at Hermione before turning her eyes to Draco. Hermione looked away, knowing what Gabrielle saw. Where the young Frenchwoman bore bruises and blood, Hermione was unmarked. Hermione wore clean clothing where Gabrielle had been paraded naked through the corridors. She had given the other woman up to save Draco, surrendered Gabrielle to slavery along with so many others, and she sat healthy, well-treated, without chain or collar, sat at a table with a breakfast spread out before her, her rewards evident.

She glanced back in time to see Gabrielle give her a look of undisguised loathing. "_Putain_." Yaxley gripped Gabrielle's hair and jerked her head back. Gabrielle keened. "I bring a message! Your presence is demanded by your master. Bring your property and meet him in his chambers."

Yaxley laughed and pulled Gabrielle closer, rubbing her head against his groin. "She's a disobedient thing. Had to beat her four times to get her to remember what to say." He licked his lips and stared at Hermione. "Maybe I should borrow your girl for a while, teach mine how to behave. You certainly seem to have yours well in hand. And in cunt too, I reckon."

"You've delivered your message," Draco said, his voice tight. "Now get out."

Yaxley snorted and yanked Gabrielle out of the room by the chain around her neck, hauled her into the corridor choking and struggling. "Come on, bitch," he grumbled. "Taking you to the Great Hall, show off your talents."

Draco slammed the door on Gabrielle's protests, then leaned against it, cursing. "Hermione, if my master is about to give me hell for what happened yesterday, I swear to god I'm going to take it out of your hide." He turned around and sighed, hands shoved into his hair. "Collar and chain, and _quickly_. He's not patient."

As desperate as she was to protest, to ask questions, to demand answers, she knew there was no time. No time for it, and no sense in frustrating Draco when she knew he had to steel himself for a meeting with the Dark Lord. They dressed quickly, Draco snapped the collar around her neck, and they left their rooms, hurrying up through the corridors. Hermione recognized the path they were taking, and she had to fight back outrage. They were heading for Dumbledore's quarters.

She supposed she should have expected this, should have known that the Dark Lord would lay claim to the home of the man he'd hated so, but it still sent a pain through her. It was yet another reminder of how much she'd lost, how much she'd given up, how many of her friends were dead as a result of this man's thirst for power. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve as Draco stopped at the hideous gargoyle that blocked the entrance stairs, its face now twisted and hateful. She waited for him to give the password, but instead he drew up his left sleeve and pressed his forearm to the gargoyle's mouth.

The gargoyle shifted, and Draco jerked away, leaving spots of blood on the stone fangs. The gargoyle rose up to hover over the corridor. Draco shook Hermione's chain and led her up the stairs. Outside the heavy door at the top of the steps, he stopped and urged her close. "I'm sure I don't have to warn you to be on your best behavior," he whispered. "He's bound to be angry about what happened yesterday. I will ... try to appease him. You try not to upset him." He raised her chin on the edge of his hand and bent to kiss her, lips brushing across hers so quick she could almost think she'd imagined the touch. He smiled at her, then cleared his expression, settled his shoulders, and knocked on the door.

"Enter," called the Dark Lord's voice, and Draco led her into the chambers, lit only by the dancing flames in the hearth. Hermione held back any sound as she looked around the room that had been so familiar to her once upon a time. The decorations and furniture were unchanged, but the portraits that lined the walls were empty. Some few were singed and hung crooked on their hooks, some wore cobwebs and dust. The headmasters of Hogwarts had abandoned the castle. She looked for Dumbledore's portrait and bit her lip as she failed to find it in the mass of frames. She thought the Dark Lord had destroyed it, and she bowed her head to blink away tears as Draco guided her to kneel at his side.

"My Lord," he said in a quiet voice, his eyes on the floor as he knelt. "I come at your command."

"Your aunt wishes to have your captive executed," the Dark Lord said without acknowledging Draco's greeting. His voice came from the shadows at the rear of the room, then he stepped forward into the firelight. "I am of a mind to grant this request, seeing as your Mudblood is violent and willful."

Draco shivered, though he tried to disguise the movement with a shift on his knees, as if he sought a better position. Hermione watched him from the corner of her eye, her head still bowed. "My Lord, if I may protest, I must disagree with my aunt's assessment. Your instructions were to train this woman, to teach her what her proper place should be. I have done so. She has learned that her place is as my property, and that I am her true master. Like an obedient servant, she protected me, as I and my brothers would do for you."

The Dark Lord stared down at Draco and Hermione thought that perhaps he might set to mocking Draco for the speech, a little over the top in her opinion. It seemed that the Dark Lord was in an indulgent mood, however, for he laughed and made a gesture. Draco raised his head, slowly. The Dark Lord laughed again and paced away, his pale and thin hands folded behind his back. "Tell me, young Malfoy, tell me the truth. I hear that Jugson came to your quarters. What did he want?"

Hermione held her breath. Draco inhaled deeply. "My Lord, he did. He ... he wished to speak of my aunt."

"And?"

"And he...." Draco swallowed. Hermione heard the small quaver in his voice, and she wished that she could take his hand to give him support. "And he spoke of her anger towards my captive. And-and he made some disparaging remarks about me."

Hermione stared at the floor, waiting for the Dark Lord to demand further details, to demand the full account of the conversation Draco and Jugson had shared. To her surprise, he did nothing but pace in front of the fireplace, and Hermione's heart fluttered as she came to a realization. The Dark Lord did not need to question Draco further. He did not respect Draco, did not believe Draco to be capable of much. Her eyes widened as her mind raced. He would never suspect for a moment that anyone would bring even a hint of dissension to his youngest servant.

"What were these disparaging remarks?" asked the Dark Lord, his robes sweeping through the ashes that spilled out of the hearth.

"How I lacked the strength of my father," Draco said, his voice firming up. "How I am not the man my father is."

"Was."

Hermione froze. Draco's head snapped up and he stared wildly at the Dark Lord's back. "My--what?"

"You are not the man your father _was_." The Dark Lord spun around, his white face twisted in a grimace of amusement. He thrust one hand into his robes and brought it out in a fist, then tossed the small object he held at Draco's knees. Draco's body shook in startlement, and Hermione suspected he would have fallen over if he had been on his feet. The item that lay on the floor was an elaborate ring. Draco picked it up, and before his fingers clamped around it in a convulsive motion, Hermione saw a letter inlaid into the large stone.

_M_.

Malfoy.

The Dark Lord flicked his fingers and took a chair, his red eyes shining in the firelight. "It seems you are no longer the heir to the Malfoy fortune, but its sole possessor. I trust you will put it to better use than your father. He failed me for the last time, and he was not even decent enough to die in my service. His body was found in the alley behind Grisette's. Fucked himself into a heart attack, I gather. Always an idiot, your father, but I never expected he'd die in a brothel."

Draco clung to his father's ring, held it tight in his fingers, and kept his eyes on the floor. Hermione gripped the hem of her dress, clutching the fabric to keep from reaching for him. The Dark Lord was grinning, his face bright with his amusement. Hermione had thought she'd hated him before; now that hatred felt as nothing more than a mild dislike. Her disgust and her anger grew like a fire in the pit of her stomach as the Dark Lord taunted Draco over his father's death.

"As you are now the only Malfoy in my service, I'm going to give you one more chance, boy." The Dark Lord drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "One mission. Should you succeed, you may take your father's place as my lieutenant. Should you fail, well. Then you will see your father again in short order." He made a sharp gesture and took up a goblet from the table next to his chair. "And if you fail, I'll let Greyback have your Mudblood while you watch. Dismissed."

\---

Draco shut the door to their quarters and leaned against it, his head and forearms pressed to the wood. His fingers clawed at the door, nails scraping down until Hermione thought that he would drive splinters under them. His robes swayed against his legs as his body trembled, and each of his breaths was audibly pained. Hermione felt her eyes sting, and she wiped them on the sleeve of her dress. Years before, she wouldn't have believed that any of the Malfoys were capable of affection, much less love and care, even for their own, but seeing Draco in his anguish over his father's death broke her heart.

With careful movements to keep any sound from startling him, she unfastened the collar and chain from around her throat and piled it on the small table before approaching Draco. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into him, her head pressed to his back. She listened to his breathing, wild and fast, and she slid her hand up his chest to rest over his heart. "I'm sorry," she whispered, tipping her head so that her lips moved against the fabric of his robes. "I'm sorry, Draco."

He gulped and swore in a soft voice, each word quaking. His head rocked against the door, his fingers dug into the wood, and he shook in Hermione's arms. With an abrupt, choked sound, he spun in her embrace and yanked her close, tugged her up against him and buried his face in her hair. He held her tight enough that she struggled to breathe, but she refused to push him away. If he needed comfort, she would give it to him.

He clung to her, panting against her ear, his fingers tangled in her hair. Hermione murmured to him, tried to calm him with soft words. She didn't think that she was succeeding well, because he only breathed harder, clutched her to him with fierce strength in his arms. At length, his heavy, rapid breathing began to resolve into sounds, and Hermione tightened her arms around his waist, thinking that he was going to weep openly. She tipped her head to his, let her lips brush his neck, and she said another quiet apology.

Draco laughed.

He _laughed_, his voice thick with desperate amusement. "Don't," he said. "Don't. Don't apologize. Don't!"

Hermione leaned back, meeting his eyes with concern. She thought for a moment that he'd gone mad, that his father's death had snapped his mind, but his gaze was steady and sane. He smiled brightly, practically beamed with delight. He gripped her around the waist, picked her up, and swung her in a circle. "Hermione." Her name sang in his voice as he put her back on her feet. He took her hands, stepped back, and bowed low, then spun her in a few steps of dancing.

He released her, still laughing, and Hermione stared at him in complete bewilderment. Draco chuckled and spun away, going to the cabinet where he kept his few possessions. He reached up to the top shelf, scrabbled at the back, then returned to her. "Hold out your hands," he said, grinning. Hermione obeyed, extending both hands, palms up.

Draco set a ring in her left hand, the ring that the Dark Lord had thrown at him. "My father's," he said. He set another ring on her right palm. "Mine. What do you see?"

Hermione looked down at the rings. As far as she could tell, they were identical. Heavy in her hands, with wide bands and elaborate settings, they each had a large stone that had been inlaid with a capital M. She shook her head, not understanding what Draco was trying to show her.

He laughed again and gripped her shoulders. "My Lord didn't see it either," he said with glee. He drew his wand and cast _Lumos_, then held his wand over her hands. "Look again," he told her. "Look at the bands."

Hermione held each ring beneath the light, examining them carefully. Draco's ring first. A green stone, with a Latin inscription on the inside of the band. She translated in her head. "In blood is purity," she said, unsurprised at the motto.

Draco nodded, smiling at her with affection like a proud teacher. "Yes. And the other?"

She looked at Lucius' ring, then her eyes widened and she snapped her head up to stare at Draco, her mouth open in surprise. The stone was the same, the design was the same, but the motto it bore was changed. "In blood is life." Draco grinned even wider once she'd spoken and he danced in place, the light from his wand making the shadows in the corners of their room flicker. Hermione furrowed her brows. "I don't--I don't understand."

"Those rings are exact, perfect matches," Draco said with a quiet laugh. "They are twins. Identical twins. They always have been." He doused his wand and tossed it on the table, then leaned in close to her ear, his breath warm on her neck. "When my father gave me that ring, he told me a secret. Magic was forged into it with his blood, in an ancient ritual passed through centuries of our family's line. If I was ever sent his ring, my first duty was to examine the band, to read the motto. It's a message, Hermione. A message from my father's own lips."

He caught her face in both hands, shoved his fingers into her hair and ducked his head until his mouth brushed hers as he spoke. "My father is still alive."

Hermione squeaked and Draco laughed again. He kissed her. "He lives." He kissed her again. "My father lives." He kissed her again, and again, and again, until she dropped the rings onto the table and flung her arms around him. She kissed him back, fiercely, joyfully, his delight and relief filling her as well. She had no love for Lucius Malfoy, but she cared for his son's feelings, and Draco was so happy that she couldn't help but be happy in concert with him.

Draco dropped his hands to her waist and turned her, then picked her up and set her on the table. He kissed her deep, his tongue sliding into her mouth. Hermione caught her breath, but couldn't stop the soft moan that rose up as Draco's lips moved against hers. The fear and worry of the past several days disappeared as he pulled her close. She knew there was still much to be concerned about, but she could ignore it for a few minutes. She wanted to ignore it. She wanted to celebrate Draco's joy with him, thrilled to see him able to smile and be happy for even a short while. Fear would return too quickly.

Right then, right that moment, she could chase it away.

She slid her hands up Draco's chest and around his neck, her fingers twisting into the ends of his hair as she returned his kiss. Draco bit at her lip with a soft questioning noise, and Hermione gave a small nod. "Yes," she said, shifting on the table to spread her knees around his hips. "He's alive. And you're alive." She pushed one hand into his robes and laid it over his heart, warmth rising through the thin fabric of his shirt. "You're alive. I'm alive. We have reason to celebrate."

He pulled back enough to look at her eyes, and Hermione hoped he could see her sincerity in her gaze. She touched his lips, let her fingers trail down his throat. "Celebrate life with me, Draco. We're winning the game, at the moment. The game we have to play. We're winning. Celebrate with me."

Draco searched her eyes, then he smiled. It was a small smile, hardly curling the corners of his mouth, but it was there, and he dropped his hands to her thighs. He slid his fingers up her legs, under the hem of her dress, and reached for the sides of her knickers. Hermione put her hands behind her and pushed against the table, lifting her hips enough for Draco to slide the knickers off her body. He stepped back and dropped them into the chair, then stripped his robes and tossed them over the chair as well.

Hermione looked to the bed in the curtained alcove with a tilt of her head, but Draco shook his head. He pointed at the table and pulled off his shirt. Hermione tugged her skirt high and spread her knees wide in answer. If this was what he wanted, if it was what made him happy for the time being, it was what she would give him. She leaned back on her elbows, arching her back to give him an invitation, expecting to feel him move between her knees.

He did so, but his hands brushed the soft skin at the inside of her thighs, then she felt him shift, felt him lower to kiss her legs. Hermione opened her eyes and looked down the length of her body to see Draco kneeling between her dangling feet. He kissed her shins, her knees, her thighs. The soft tips of his fringe brushed her skin and made Hermione shudder. Draco smiled and bent his head.

Hermione sucked in a breath when she felt his lips press to the folds of her cunt. For a few heartbeats, she was distracted by the thought that no one had done this to her before, and she wasn't quite certain how she should respond. She hoped Draco had done this previously, so he'd know if she was doing it right. When she paid attention again, she wriggled to feel his fingers opening her. Draco leaned closer, and the tip of his tongue fluttered against her body. Hermione gripped the edge of the table with a soft gasp. Draco laughed quietly and flicked his tongue again.

Hermione lay back and sank into the sensations Draco pulled from her. It seemed there wasn't really a wrong way to respond. Draco seemed to enjoy her reactions, because she could hear him moaning, talking in a quiet voice about her heat, her wetness. His tongue moved almost too gently for her mind to notice, but her body most certainly did. She arched on the table, pushing up to his mouth, her thighs tense against his hands as he held her legs wide. He lifted her clit on his tongue, sucked it between his lips and pulled at it gently, circled it, pressed upon it, until she was twisting her hips against his mouth and whimpering for release. She clutched at his hair, wrapped the fine strands in her fingers and pulled. "Draco, _please_," she said, her voice strained as her body ached with heat.

She almost wept when he kissed her thigh and rose up, wiping his chin on his palm. Draco shoved his trousers down and stroked his stiffened cock, stepped close and settled his hand on her mound. He guided his cock into her and plucked her clit with his thumb. Hermione gripped the edge of the table, wrapped her legs around him, and pulled him close. He slid into her, deep, the angle pushing the head of his cock against a spongy surface inside her. Hermione felt him brush over it, felt her nerves sing, and she gasped, shoving up onto her elbows to stare at him with wide eyes. "Again," she demanded, looking down to where their bodies were joined. "Do that _again_."

Draco grinned, his eyes lighting with a dark fire, and he drove into her. Hermione scrabbled at the table, her legs trembling, as Draco's cock filled her. He shoved his hands behind her knees and pushed her legs back, pushed them wide. Hermione shrieked as the change in angle sent her nerves into overload. She convulsed, her cunt squeezing hard, and Draco groaned as she came around him.

He picked up speed, picked up strength, his thrusts grew wild. Hermione collapsed on the table, panting for breath, and she reached for him. Draco shook his head, his fringe swinging around his eyes, and he grabbed her hands. He slammed them to the table, pinned her hands in place, and he fucked her. She saw his skin flush, saw him drop his head back. With a wrench of his hips and a deep, rattling groan, he pulled free of her body. He slapped his cock onto her mound and came, warm semen spreading across her belly and rolling over her hips.

He groaned again and his arms shook, dropping him to his elbows over her. Hermione curled up and kissed the top of his head, affectionate and tender. They were alive. This was life.

\---

She woke in the sleeping alcove, her thighs and cunt aching from exertion. She smiled and stretched luxuriously, pleased with the feeling. Pleased to be feeling something beyond fear and hatred. It was a comfort to her, and she hoped it had been a comfort to Draco.

Hermione turned to place her hand on his body, but the bed beside her was empty. She furrowed her brows and looked around as if he were hiding somewhere in the shadows of the alcove. The curtains were drawn, and she reached for them, then stilled when she heard Draco's voice. He was chanting softly, the Latin too quiet for her to recognize. She put her eye to the small opening between the curtains.

The two Malfoy signet rings sat on the table between a pair of black candles that burned with dark green flames. In their shifting light, Draco's face looked hollow and gaunt. He passed his hand through the flames in an odd gesture, then held his palm flat over the rings. They quivered, rattled across the table, and spun in place on their stones.

Hermione fought back a yelp as a smoky figure rose up from the spinning rings and spoke in a deep and drawling voice. "Success is at hand," the figure said, the smoke gradually shifting to resemble an older version of Draco, to form the face of Lucius Malfoy. "My plans are coming to fruition. The body I used as mine was a gift from our allies, and will suffice to convince our enemies. Keep faith, keep the girl safe, and do not falter. I have discovered that which we have both believe. Our master's lies are strong, but they will not last. His victory is hollow and his trophy is false."

Hermione stared at the shifting figure, puzzling over its words, then she gasped before she could stop the sound. Draco jerked and the candles sparked, their green flames turning to yellow and red. The rings fell over and the translucent figure of Lucius disappeared in the middle of a sentence. "The boy--"

Draco stormed across the room and yanked the curtains open. Hermione shot up on her knees and gripped his shoulders, staring at him with wild hope racing her heart. "Is it true? Is it _true_?"

Draco's eyes flickered and Hermione shook him hard, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Tell me!" Her voice cracked as tears filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. She was certain she would go mad if she didn't hear the truth of what she'd just witnessed. "Tell me if it's true! Please, Draco!"

With a curse, he wrapped his arms around her and held her head to his shoulder. "Shut up. Be quiet. No questions. _None_. There's too much at stake here."

She keened and clawed at his chest. "Tell me, please. Please, Draco. Please. I'll keep faith, I'll play this game, I'll play by any rules you give me, but please tell me." The flare of hope fading, Hermione clung to Draco, desperate for any small thing, one word that would make it come to life again. That would make her hope live again.

Draco was trembling, and he bent his head to hers. She thought, her heart breaking, that he would refuse her, that he would deny what she suspected. The seconds stretched into a century, then Draco slumped. He sighed and whispered into her hair. "As much as your life is in my hands as long as you're here, telling you this will put my life in yours. You nearly got us both killed because I didn't speak before. If I tell you, you _must_ obey me. No questions, no hesitation. This game is going to get very deadly, Hermione."

She nodded against his shoulder and raised her head to press her lips to his. "Tell me. Tell me, please, and I will obey every command. I'll be perfect, and no one will have any cause to question us. I'll help you with the captives, with the bodies. I'll learn to torture, I'll learn anything. _Anything_. Please, Draco. Tell me."

"Dammit, woman," he muttered. Draco shuddered, kissed her again, and whispered against her mouth. "Harry Potter is still alive."


End file.
